by Donna Vitek
"Miss Corey, a pleasure to meet you," Chantel uttered, a certain hardening of her eyes belying her words. "I didn't realize Ric had brought someone with him this trip."
Blushing at the blatant insinuation, Allendre hastily denied it, or at least she tried to. "Ric didn't bring—"
"What Allie means is that we didn't actually arrive here together. I came first, and she flew in a couple of days later. It's her first time in Bermuda. And you're enjoying it very much, aren't you, love?"
Love? Allendre stared up at him in nearly open-mouthed disbelief until the increasingly crushing pressure his hand was exerting on hers caused her to agree hastily. "Oh, y-yes, I love Bermuda."
"How nice for you," Chantel said stiffly, her perfect porcelain-doll face tight with displeasure. Her brown eyes darted down to the watercolor and sketch Allendre carried. "You are interested in making a small purchase?"
The deliberately insulting emphasis irked Allendre slightly, but she gave the girl the friendliest smile she could muster. "I'd like to buy these, yes."
"Why don't you browse around some more while I pay Chantel?" Ric interposed incredibly, removing a slim black leather wallet from his pocket. "Maybe you'll find something else you'd like."
"But you're not paying for these!" Allendre protested, unwilling to carry the charade quite that far. "I'll pay for them myself."
Undaunted, Ric only smiled at her indulgently and stroked the tip of one long finger across her high cheekbone. Then he turned to Chantel with a shrug. "She's such an independent little thing, but I must admit that's part of her appeal."
"Indeed," Chantel muttered with a sniff as she nearly snatched the pictures from Allendre's hands.
Five minutes later, as the door of the gallery closed behind them, Allendre balked, refusing to move another step when Ric's hand cupped her elbow. "What was that all about? Why did you want her to think that we… that we're…"
"Lovers," he finished for her, his voice low and faintly provocative. "I hope you don't mind that I gave her that impression."
"But why did you?"
Something like regret flitted across his face as he shrugged. "I think of Chantel as a friend, that's all."
"But she'd like to be much more than that. Is that it?"
He didn't seem to want to say so outright. Instead, he murmured evasively, "She's a dear friend and I wouldn't want to lose her friendship, okay? Let's just leave it at that."
Nodding as they walked on up the stairs of the arcade, Allendre felt a growing respect for him. His discretion was admirable. At least he didn't talk about his conquests behind their backs. And it was quite obvious he didn't have any difficulty finding females willing to be conquered. He was attractive, fairly wealthy, and intelligent—an unbeatable combination. Women probably chased after him all the time; she had realized that before. But now that she had seen a stewardess plus Deb and Chantel throw themselves at his feet, she was beginning to truly understand how he could have assumed she was chasing him, too. It was a sobering realization. Convincing Ric that she hadn't been chasing him might prove to be much more difficult than she had imagined. Especially when she couldn't seem to prevent herself from responding with total abandon whenever he chose to touch her.
Keeping conversation strictly impersonal again, Allendre and Ric shared a peaceful, friendly drive back to Shannon House. Yet as soon as they walked into the hotel lobby the ambience of peace was lost. Debra Hopkins bustled across the maroon carpet to meet them, reaching out to cling to Ric's hand.
"I'm so glad you're back," she announced in her silliest helpless-little-girl voice. "There's a problem I just can't seem to handle. I need you to help me with it."
"And I want to talk to you about some of the policy changes I hear you've made," he responded flatly, easing his hand from her tight grip. "I have to see Harrison for a moment, though. Wait in my office until I get there." Ignoring Deb's sudden petulant pout, he turned to Allendre. "I'll see you later, okay?"
She nodded. "Thanks for the ride into town." He was gone almost before she could say the words. Not at all eager to talk to Deb, Allendre walked on to the elevators, but she barely had time to push the button before the older girl came rushing up to join her.
"So you went to Hamilton with Ric today," she commented casually, though there was a hint of cattiness in her tone. "Enjoy yourself?"
Nodding as they stepped together into the elevator, Allendre answered, "Yes, I enjoyed it very much."
"Holiday romances can be fun… if they aren't taken seriously," Deb drawled, a thin, knowing smile curling her lips. "Two people meet, have a few days of excitement together, then go their separate ways back to people they really know and love. Ric's had his share of brief flings here, none of them the least bit serious, of course. There was one little French girl who thought something lasting would come of it, and naturally she was hurt when it ended. Naive of her to expect anything, don't you agree?"
It was an obvious word of warning. When Deb got off the elevator on the third floor, Allendre drew a deep, shuddering breath as the doors closed again. Though the older girl's motive was suspect, the warning she had issued made sense. Holiday romances rarely evolved into permanent, meaningful relationships, and that was a fact Allendre couldn't afford to forget.
Chapter Six
"I'm telling you, Deb, all this ridiculous corner cutting has to stop," Ric was saying emphatically. "Our guests shouldn't have to tote little cards around just to get towels at the beach and pool. It's an absolutely tacky policy, and it's ending as of today, is that clear?"
"But a lot of the other hotels on the island have that same policy," Deb protested plaintively. "It's only practical. You just can't let people take towels, then return them whenever they please. God only knows how many won't ever be brought back. I think you're making too much of this. The other hotels—"
"I don't care about the other hotels. Shannon House is different! We're not going to harass our guests with silly rules and regulations about towels. If we lose a few, I'm sure we can absorb the cost, and that's my final word on that subject. Now, about the beach bus. As I said last night, it will start running regularly. Understood?"
"But, Ric, I…"
Standing at the front desk, Allendre pretended not to overhear the discussion going on in the office while Loretta turned to discreetly close the partially opened door.
"You're going to the beach, miss?" Loretta asked politely, coming back to take the room key Allendre handed her. "If you wouldn't mind waiting about five minutes, I'm sure the beach bus will be making a run."
Smiling at the clerk's newfound efficiency, Allendre shook her head. "Thanks, anyway, but I don't really mind the walk down so much. I have to admit, though, I wouldn't mind riding the bus back up. Those stairs are murder."
"They are steep, miss," Loretta agreed. "But the beach is so nice. By the way, they say the water's even clearer than usual today."
"Then I'd better get down there. I've been meaning to go snorkeling, and it sounds as if this would be the perfect day for it."
"Have a nice swim," Loretta called as Allendre walked away.
Walking down the steeply graded road to the beach two minutes later, thinking about the hotel's problems, as usual, Allendre decided that Loretta might do a better job of managing Shannon House than Deb had done thus far. At least the younger woman had the graciously pleasing personality needed to deal with the public, while Deb was too wrapped up in finding ways to increase the total in the profit column. She seemed to assume that guests would tolerate a few irritating policies simply because other hotels practiced them, too. And Ric obviously wasn't making much progress in convincing her that Shannon House had a reputation for being different, that a great deal of the hotel's appeal had always been its dignified atmosphere and tasteful coddling of the guests. Once it became like many of the other island hotels, there would be no real reason for people to want to stay there. That assumption seemed logical enough to Allendre; she couldn't understand why
the older girl didn't see it, especially since her uncle had never compromised service in order to make a higher profit. Perhaps he would be well enough soon to come back and take charge again.
Allendre knew Ric must be hoping he would, because until that time it seemed fairly obvious that he himself would need to constantly look over Deb's shoulder so she couldn't damage Shannon House's reputation any more than she already had.
Slipping off her sandals, Allendre padded across the warm, powder-fine sand on the beach, seeking as usual a fairly out-of-the-way spot to spread her towel. She found one near the still sturdy wall of what had once been a cannon rampart and settled herself with a rather dejected little sigh. Her job here was nearly finished; she had no doubts that Ric would raise the hotel's standard of service back up to its former superior level. She would be able to explain that to Mr. Meredith and recommend that he still rate Shannon House as super deluxe. That meant there was only one question left unanswered. Was there any truth in the allegations that Shannon House sometimes overcharged guests when they checked out? Somehow, she had to discover whether those allegations were justified or completely unfounded; but at the moment she had no idea how to go about such an investigation. It crossed her mind to simply tell Ric that she had heard rumors about overcharging, but she soon dismissed that idea with a shiver of unadulterated fear. She was too cowardly to be the one to give him news like that. He was dangerous enough when he was only slightly angry; infuriated, he might be as volatile as a vial of nitroglycerin.
So she would have to find some other means to solve the overcharging puzzle, but at the moment she didn't want to think about that. Yesterday's trip into Hamilton with Ric still lingered in her mind, and she felt an odd contentment in the thought that they had enjoyed hours together without once getting into a fight. He could be so nice, and Allendre sighed dreamily as she propped her chin on her updrawn knees, staring out at the azure water but seeing in actuality a lean, tanned face and warm blue eyes. Rousing herself from her reverie at last, she scrounged through the jumbled contents of her beach bag, only to find that she had left her bottle of sunscreen in her room.
"Oh, drat," she muttered, examining her long, lightly tanned legs, and deciding she could safely stay in the sun about an hour. After that she could go snorkeling; underwater, the sun would be no threat. Rolling over onto her stomach, she propped up on her elbows to begin her daily search for tiny seashells in the sand. Though she had no idea what she might do with the perfect specimens she found, they were such exquisitely beautiful little things that she couldn't resist collecting them.
She was still absorbed in her task some minutes later when an eerie sensation that she was no longer alone trickled along her spine. She seemed to be in shadow, while the sun shone on the sand all around her. A tiny frown knitted her brow, and she turned over warily, squinting at the bright sunlight that surrounded Ric's silhouetted form. "Oh, hi," she murmured weakly, inexplicably self-conscious about the modest white bikini she wore. Scrambling to sit up, she started to fold her arms across her chest, decided that would appear childish, and ultimately leaned back on her hands to gaze up at him with a rather shy smile. Then her heart seemed to do a somersault when he knelt down on the towel beside her, his blue eyes frankly appraising as they drifted slowly over the entire length of her body.
"I noticed you sifting through the sand," he said, his voice coming from deep in his throat as a glint of amusement danced in his eyes. "Let me give you some advice. If you're searching for buried treasure, use a shovel next time. You'll make much faster progress."
Allendre wrinkled her nose at him. "I was searching for seashells, not treasure," she informed him tartly, amazed at the warm excitement that coursed through her veins simply because he was close. Trying to lessen his disturbing effect on her, she grinned and glanced around. "Of course, if there is supposed to be treasure around here somewhere, maybe I will get a shovel. I don't think I'd mind being independently wealthy."
"There are rumors of buried pirates' troves on every island, but you don't have time to start digging right now. You're going sailing with me."
His supremely confident pronouncement widened her eyes. "Sailing?" she squeaked, staring with fascination at the brown hand that suddenly enclosed hers. "But I—"
"No buts. You're going." Rising to his feet, he pulled her easily up to stand before him, the commanding gleam in his eyes advising against argument. "Now, gather up your paraphernalia and I'll drive us to the dock in the Jeep."
Allendre hesitated, swallowing convulsively as she tilted her head back to gaze up into the dark blue depths of his eyes. She shouldn't go with him; her nagging common sense was trying to tell her that. Already, in the few days she had known him, she had become too involved. Considering how he could arouse her both physically and emotionally with little effort on his part, she would be a fool to place herself in a situation where they were alone for hours on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Anything could happen. If he chose to seduce her, she wasn't at all sure she could resist. Her eyes lowered to the enticing expanse of brown throat exposed at the open collar of his white knit shirt, down to the tan length of chino-clad legs. He looked much too attractive for her peace of mind. Torn between longing to go with him and knowing she should not, she gestured uncertainly. Then her resentful green eyes darted up to meet his as he laughed softly.
"Scared, Allendre?" he whispered, stroking the bridge of her small nose with the tip of one finger. "Afraid I mean to spirit you off somewhere and have my way with you?"
"No, of course not!" she denied, blushing hotly as she realized he had voiced her thoughts almost as if he had read her mind. Then she qualified her denial in a weak little voice. "I mean… I don't have any reason to be scared. Do I?"
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and his brows lifted as he shrugged nonchalantly. "I never make promises, Allie," he murmured provocatively. "So I guess you'll just have to take a gamble. Come on, come with me."
The coaxing note in his voice was her undoing. Putting her common sense on hold, she nodded, her breath catching at the sudden intense light in his eyes. Yet she went along willingly after he gathered up her towel, and she suppressed all the doubts that were nagging at her when she got into the Jeep and rode with him to St. George's Harbor.
With a gleaming white hull and varnished wood cockpit, the Sea Dancer sparkled in the sunlight at its mooring between Ordinance Island and St. George proper. After hesitating a moment, Allendre took Ric's outstretched hand and allowed him to help her aboard, then caught her breath when he sat down on his heels in front of her and began unbuckling her leather sandals.
"The deck can be slippery," he explained, grinning up at her flushed face as his hand curved around one slim ankle, then the other, and he removed the sandals from her feet. "You're safer barefoot if you don't have the proper shoes."
"Oh, I see." Averting her eyes from the laughter in his, she glanced around at the gleaming wood lines of the cockpit and the chrome fitting that glimmered in the sunlight. "Sea Dancer—this must be the yacht I heard Deb talking about the other day. Isn't it?"
Ric shrugged. "Deb calls her a yacht. I call her a boat. I don't suppose it matters as long as she's seaworthy, and she is that. My grandfather had her built as a gift for my grandmother. She loved to sail." With a reminiscent smile, he took Allendre's hand, drawing her into the windowed cockpit. "How about you, Allie? Do you like to sail?"
Confined in such a tiny little space with him, she could feel a disturbing fluttering begin in her stomach, and she tried to lessen her reaction by looking around curiously. "I've only sailed twice, and neither time was on a boat as big as this. So, if you expect me to be your crew, I'm afraid I won't be much help. I know nothing at all about hoisting the mainsail or battening the hatches or all that other nautical stuff."
He laughed at her. "Then I'll just have to teach you some of that 'nautical stuff this afternoon, won't I?" Giving her a playful pat on the backside, he scooted her out
of the cockpit. "Now, while I'm casting off, why don't you take that hamper of food below to the galley? No use letting it sit in the hot sun."
With a nod she obeyed, relieved that at least she knew what a galley was. As she stepped down the steps into the cool, dim cabin below deck she was surprised to see how much space there was. It wasn't a ballroom but it was adequate. One forward corner contained the diminutive galley, with a tiny refrigerator and a gas-heated stove built into cedarwood cabinets. She put the hamper down on the table affixed to the floor in the center of the cabin, then pressed a testing hand down into the mattress of the upper berths on the port side. It felt comfortable enough. Merely curious, she walked past the table and affixed chairs to open a door beyond. A tiny blue mosaic-tiled bathroom offered the luxury of a shower stall plus the other essential fixtures. After pulling the door shut again, she opened the one next to it, then stood transfixed. Cream-colored carpet provided the perfect contrast for the teakwood walls. A stained-glass Tiffany lamp was suspended from the ceiling above an intricately carved tea table. Beneath the leeward porthole sat a delicate writing table, and built against the port side was a thick-posted double bed with a red velvet coverlet.
She hadn't expected anything as grand as this, and as she stared at the bed a sudden unbidden thought sent her pulses racing. What would it be like to spend long nights at sea with Ric in this cabin… in that bed? Horrified by her wild flight of fancy, she spun around, jerking the door shut behind her. For a moment she stood gazing across the main cabin at the galley, but as she heard the abrupt puttering start of the engine she roused herself and moved again. Still unable to dismiss that velvet-covered bed from her mind, she became increasingly self-conscious about the bikini she wore. In comparison to others she had seen, it was actually an adequate, nearly demure covering but still she felt an urgent need to conceal more of herself. Considering Ric's usual effect on her and that bed…
